


Tainted By Darkness

by IStillPlayWithLegos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, And you can pry that from my cold dead hands, Asphyxiation, Blood, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Courting Rituals, Creature Stiles Stilinski, Dark Derek Hale, Dark Stiles Stilinski, Death, Descent Into Darkness, Descent into Madness, Dialogue Light, Exsanguination, Fear, Full Shift Werewolves, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, Immolation, Is it cannibalism if you eat a human heart in your werewolf form?, Kinda, Language of Flowers, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Mountain Ash, Murder, No Sex, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Said corpses are very inspired by the ones on NBC's Hannibal, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spoilers, Supernatural Elements, There is no sex in this, Werewolf Courting, Wolfsbane Poisoning, idk - Freeform, more like, probably, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IStillPlayWithLegos/pseuds/IStillPlayWithLegos
Summary: Stiles Stilinski was reborn from the ashes of his old self with a heart tainted by darkness and a mind free of naivety. What had previously been nothing more than a spark had been fanned into an ember of black, ready to blaze down anything and everything that stood in its way.He wasn’t the same. The pack knew that. Who would be after the trauma Stiles had gone through? But the changes should never have been this drastic. There was a cruel glint in his eyes that had never been there before. Every smile tinged with disdain—a gracefulness to his movement which rivaled that of a dancer. Not even his scent stayed the same. It was polluted. Decayed. He smelled of death. The nogitsune was dead and gone, but it leftsomethingbehind.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	Tainted By Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> My brain kinda went insane with this and threw me back to my 14 year old, Teen Wolf obsessed self. So have some murderous creature Stiles after the whole Nogitsune thing happens. I haven't seen Teen Wolf in ages, so forgive me if the canon stuff is a little rusty. Also, just pretend nothing post-season 3 happened in this fic except the whole Kate being alive thing (but she's human in this). So yea, happy reading :)

Stiles Stilinski was reborn from the ashes of his old self with a heart tainted by darkness and a mind free of naivety. What had previously been nothing more than a spark had been fanned into an ember of black, ready to blaze down anything and everything that stood in its way.

He wasn’t the same. The pack knew that. Who would be after the trauma Stiles had gone through? But the changes should never have been this drastic. There was a cruel glint in his eyes that had never been there before. Every smile tinged with disdain—a gracefulness to his movement which rivaled that of a dancer. Not even his scent stayed the same. It was polluted. Decayed. He smelled of death. The nogitsune was dead and gone, but it left _something_ behind.

Perhaps it was the hip flask of mountain ash he carried with him that first tipped the pack off, or maybe it was rune-covered knives holstered to his forearms. Or maybe, it was the way the darkness now clung to him like a second skin. A darkness which, for all intents and purposes, should have terrified him; Stiles, however, greeted it like an old friend. Reveling in the way the shadows would writhe in the nighttime and slink away with the sun.

He was oddly...detached. Like he could focus for once in his life. His eyes didn’t flit around carelessly, and he no longer moved like a baby deer standing for the first time. It was all like a perfectly executed performance. Every step he took. Every slight motion of his hands. Every word which came out of his mouth—Syrupy slow and meticulously planned. 

Death leaves its mark on all it takes, and so it would make sense that Peter was the first one who noticed. The way Stiles began to linger in the shadows. The way his gaze would sharpen and his jaw would set when a new threat was discovered. The way the darkness lingered on him. How the shadows now waltzed in the corners of the Hale House, flocking to him as he walked past. 

Then the bodies began to show up.

No matter how much they wanted to deny it, they knew the truth. It was Stiles. It had to be. The stench of death that had trailed him for weeks after his _return_ plagued the sites where the bodies were found. The darkness haunted those places, like a second skin that refused to be shed. 

And Stiles? A metallic scent clawed its way under him—The smell of fresh blood clinging desperately to flesh and bone.

The first body they found was that of a young witch, hired to kill the remaining Hales. They discovered her less than a mile from the Hale House. Her face looked as though she was sleeping upon first glance, her hands clutching a bouquet of white begonias by her chest. Most of herbed, however, was horribly burned from a recent fire.

Begonia had two meanings, Lydia had told them. _Beware and pure innocence_. Fitting that the young ~~woman~~ girl died this way. Her innocence ended with her life. “Beware the Hale pack,” was the message it sent to the rest of the supernatural community once they got wind of it. **Cause of death: Immolation.**

The pack hoped that would be the end of it. It wasn’t.

A month later, a rogue omega tried to trespass on Hale land. His death seemed like a natural one up until the moment Derek tried to touch his body. A bright blue light flashed, and he shrank back as though he had been electrocuted. A discrete autopsy done by Deaton had mountain ash spilling from his lungs. **Cause of death: Asphyxiation.**

Stiles carried the potent scent of dark powder with his every step the following week. 

It wasn’t noticeable at first, but with every new murder, Stiles began to _change_. His teeth seemed sharper somehow, glinting white and deadly. His fingernails began to darken, like a coat of black nail polish sat on top. His voice lowered—A fatal whisper. And if you caught him at the right time, he could be heard _talking to himself._ Himself. It had to be. There was never anyone else in the room, after all.

The most terrifying thing though, was the day Isaac returned from the clinic, face pale and eyes traumatized. All they could get out of him was that Stiles had done _something._ Something that life itself had deemed forbidden.

The next time they saw him, the ~~boy~~ looked absolutely invigorated. It was his scent that betrayed him, though. It was _wrong._ Twisted and gnarled, reeking of death. No human should _ever_ smell like that. 

They began to doubt the fact soon after. 

No _human_ should ever smell like that.

Then they found Deucalion, dead on his back, in a circle of mountain ash. On his chest a horrible burn. “Yggdrasil,” Peter observed carefully. The World Tree from old Norse mythology was burned deep into his skin. The burn had four bloody streaks through it, the spacing matching his claws, dipped into powdered wolfsbane. Burnt Gentian surrounded his body. _Gentian: Traditionally, meaning victory_. 

Deucalion, “ **Death, Destroyer of Worlds** ,” as he had once called himself, was no longer. **Cause of death: Aconite poisoning.**

John Stilinski was no werewolf, but even he could tell something was wrong with his son. Stiles had always been quirky. This was something more. Something _different._ A child should never terrify their parent the way Stiles did. But John did nothing. He just smiled warily, ate the salads Stiles continued to bring him and ignored the way his heart pounded in fear around his only son. All parents know: You never stop loving your children, no matter what they do.

Gerard Argent was next, found with a patch of yellow wolfsbane sprouting from his chest. Skin pale and grey, as though no blood flowed through him. A silver bullet was lodged through the palm of each hand. When they tried to cut him open to determine the cause of death, they couldn’t. It took the strength of a bone saw to get through the silver which had solidified in his veins, in place of blood. **Cause of death: Exsanguination.**

Not even talk of final exams could wipe off the cruel grin on Stiles' face. It remained for a week, and then the most worrying thing happened. Stiles disappeared. Days were spent tracking his scent, hunting down police leads, looking for any sign of where he might have gone. But there was nothing. No scent. No trace. Like he _vanished_ into thin air. 

The pack despaired. He was one of them, and no matter how much he terrified them, he always would be. Derek took it the hardest. He grew frustrated. Angry. _Desperate_. Willing to do whatever it took to get Stiles back. He slashed and clawed his way through humans and monsters alike, gathering what information he could and leaving them just alive enough—Following Stiles’ nonexistent trail.

He returned to Beacon Hills months later. Trotting up the stairs of the Hale House on four paws, eyes crimson red and his glossy coat streaked with blood. The pack was weary around him, as they should have been. Peter, however, greeted him with open arms, shifting with the ease of a born wolf into a form matching Derek’s. Something about the new Alpha made the packs’ skin crawl. It was like some part of Stiles’ scent had begun to corrupt Derek’s. But it wasn’t long before they grew used to it. Enjoyed it. _Thrived_ in it.

From then on, it was a waiting game.

\--- --- ---

When the mangled body of Kate Argent was discovered, the pack knew it would be the last one. It was Stiles’ finale. His _piece de resistance._ His final gift to Derek before he could come home. 

She was the most disturbing sight in Stiles’ long line of murders. Her lips and hands were missing, cut off crudely, as though done with a blunt knife. _Or perhaps a claw_. Kate’s chest was ripped open, her ribs cracked apart to expose her lungs and heart. Despite it no longer beating, Stiles managed to preserve it with some sort of magic. Her eyes were nowhere to be found—In their place, Stiles had left small piles of Daisies, tainted with droplets of blood. 

_Daisies: Innocence, Loyal love, I’ll never tell, Purity._

Peter smirked knowingly from beside Derek. A cruel and fitting irony for Kate. The hands and lips she had used to take advantage of Derek as a young teenager were removed. Daisies for the emotions of the young wolf at that age, corrupted with blood.

When Derek found the very first body, he didn’t know what to think. There was no way Stiles could have known about the Hale family’s courting traditions. And yet, somehow, he did. It made his heart race. He never had in a million years would have thought Stiles returned his affection. Love. _Obsession_. For Stiles to begin and end the courting ritual on his own? He was prepared to howl until his lungs gave out.

Peter looked over at him with raised eyebrows, turning away from Kate’s body. “Congratulations, Nephew,” was all he said before he clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and shifted into a wolf. Tradition commanded Derek have a witness watch him take part in his half of the courting ritual.

Derek walked towards the body slowly, as though he were in a trance. He ignored all words of confusion from the rest of his pack. When they tried to move forward, they were stopped by Peter snapping his jaws and growling. They were free to do what they liked—Stay and watch, or leave, Derek didn’t care. 

As long as they didn’t interrupt the ritual. 

If they even tried… Derek wouldn’t hesitate to tear them to bits. Stiles did this for him. He would be damned if someone tried to stop it from happening.

Transforming into a wolf had become second nature. With the chest already cracked open, it was the easiest thing for him to snap his sharp teeth around the hunteress’s heart. It was a clean bite, just as his father had taught him all those years ago. Derek licked his muzzle, cleaning the blood off, before transforming back into a human. 

Then the shadows by the trees opened up.

Stiles' eyes were the first thing they noticed, now a bright red to match Derek’s. The next was his _shadows_. They no longer surrounded him like before. Now, they were a part of him, like an extension of his body. He moved with them fluidly, as though they had always been there. Blood-red hands, still dripping with Kate, were by his sides, black nails sharpened to a point. His shadows twisted and turned between his fingers, around his arms, crawling up his neck. They were his in the same way his organs were.

The pair walked towards each other, stopping about a meter apart. Stiles cocked his head, the corners of his lips turning upwards knowingly. 

"Derek Hale," he murmured, his voice just loud enough for the wolf's ears to pick up. "Do you accept?"

Derek took three steps forward and reached out to Stiles, putting a hand on the back of his neck. A feral grin was the best way to describe Derek's face as he responded with a low growl, "Mieczysław Stilinski, I accept."

The forest held its breath as Stiles and Derek simultaneously clasped each other's napes and sunk their ~~fingernails~~ claws in. The pack watched eagerly as blood began to leak from Derek's neck while black wisps of _dark_ left Stiles', the scent they had grown so used to, began to soak into the air. For a moment, the air stood still, and then their eyes were open, flashing red. Within seconds, Derek was shifting back into a wolf, and Stiles—Becoming… _something else_.

No one could explain what they saw of Stiles that night after the two had changed. Peter could only describe it as something old. Older than any werewolf line he knew of. Some dark eldritch creature which not even a supernatural being could explain. Not that they wanted to. All the pack cared about was getting Stiles back. 

When the younger members of the pack returned to school the next year, no one commented on the strange way the shadows seem to dance between them. No one commented on the way the power dynamic between Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski shifted. No one commented on how the Hale House was now shrouded in darkness and shadows so thick that no one dared to trespass. And if in the years to come, certain _travelers_ disappeared upon entering Beacon Hills—Never to be seen again? No one commented on that either. 

After all, no one ever said Beacon Hills was a normal place to live. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this and would love to know what you guys thought! Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading and have a great day!


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